


the apocalypse will come wearing your brother's face

by justholdstill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, Angst, Castiel/Dean Winchester Poetry, February 2018, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Poetry, Spn Season 5, Supernatural Poetry Challenge, justholdingstill vs. magicknightriderjellyfish, prompt: suit, sense of impending doom, theme: clothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-03
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-26 07:43:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13853178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justholdstill/pseuds/justholdstill
Summary: I thought we’d gotten overtrying to label me,I said,no hope to borrow, no grace to beg.





	the apocalypse will come wearing your brother's face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [60r3d0m](https://archiveofourown.org/users/60r3d0m/gifts).



 

 

_I thought we’d gotten over_

_trying to label me_ ,

I said,

no hope to borrow, no grace to beg.

 

The way we fit

and unfit, the way

we dress for battle, in skin

of years outgrown,

the way you wear me

thin, and still - again and always

your stolen warmth,

your covering.

 

_Are you coming?_

you said.

 

You’re drunk

on all the ghosts of things

now yet to pass

between your mouth

and mine,

stillborn forever –

that the will and hands

of heaven rent

could but slip a stitch

in time and read

the language choked

beneath your collar;

there is a story there,

 

I know it.

 

Machine-gun poets say

it won’t be gospel,

but I could spell it

in my hazy twilight sleep,

again and always –

pick out the alphabet

of destiny made manifest and sickly,

and from it

work the rubric

of my shirt upon the floor,

your boots in restless shelter ‘neath

my bed:

 

one being the way your eyes

are closed for business,

your body shuttered,

and five

a last good night on earth,

the neon buzz

of your soul sweet and stinging

to my faithless tongue,

still blazing in the dark

and darkly stunning.

 

Your coat

of arms is threadbare and I’m singing

hymns of salt

the way that pillars do, Sodom asunder –

I’m standing

by the door in light

of broken morning.

 

To my throat you say:

_promise me you won’t_

_look back._

I say:

_too fucking late_

_for that my darling -_

but you leave the words

to hang and me to fold

the suits of men we were,

once more to wear

before it’s done.

 

I say:

_it’s not a prayer,_

_but something like one._

 

*

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the February 2018 [Supernatural Poetry Challenge](http://supernaturalpoetrychallenge.tumblr.com/)  
> @[justholdingstill](https://justholdingstill.tumblr.com/)/justholdstill vs. @[magicknightriderjellyfish](http://magicknightriderjellyfish.tumblr.com/)  
> Theme: Clothing  
> Prompt: **Suit**
> 
> Gifted to the lovely & encouraging @[60r3d0m](https://60r3d0m.tumblr.com/) for getting me to sign up for this challenge in the first place, and then flailing over the finished product. Thank you, thank you, thank you for inspiring me to write poetry again!


End file.
